


Flight Of The Wyverns

by evenmanout



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Gen, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-21
Updated: 2019-02-21
Packaged: 2019-11-01 21:50:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17875496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evenmanout/pseuds/evenmanout
Summary: Vox Machina's final battle with Vecna, from the point of view of the Wyvern Riders of Bahamut.CONTAINS SPOILERS FROM THE STORY OF VOX MACHINA. READ WITH CAUTION.





	Flight Of The Wyverns

# Flight of the Wyverns

Hunter Nalla Detai tested the harness buckles for a fifth time. Her wyvern Trusk shuffled nervously, sensing his rider’s disquiet. She blinked back tears angrily. She was a Rider of Bahamut. Fear did not become her.

“You should be scared, you know.”

Captain Oberlin regarded her calmly. His flying leathers were etched in the platinum befitting his rank. He carried his glaive, rumored to carry the very blessing of Bahamut himself, in one hand and his streamlined helm in the other.

He set down his helm and made a show of inspecting Trusk’s harness. 

“Look up.”

She did, almost unwillingly. Above her, the sky was a cyclone of sickly brown and purple, shot through with glaring flashes of green, necrotic light. Scores of dark, winged creatures wheeled and dove. 

Outlined against the unnatural light, a stone behemoth so large it was more a mountain with legs was nearly done with one stride, its foot large enough to crush the very walls of Vasselheim. Atop it, almost out of site in the polluted sky, perched a ruined city and on that, she knew, stood a godling intent on destroying everything in its path.

“If that doesn’t scare you, you’re insane, you’re undisciplined, and you’re of no use to me in battle. Be terrified. It will sharpen your wits, make you respect your foe. When the battle starts, it will vanish in the wind, leaving only clarity of purpose.”

Just then, the primordial’s stride ended, its foot shaking the ground with a booming impact like an earthquake. Nalla and Oberlin both jumped, and the Captain dropped his helm. He looked around sheepishly, picked it up, then clapped her on the shoulder.

“Just don’t shit yourself first.”

Nalla laughed in spite of herself. It was a release. With a deep breath, she swung onto Trusk’s back. The wyvern looked back, eyes dancing with excitement. Oberlin strode to his great, steel-armored wyvern, V’saat, and launched himself into the saddle. He turned to face the Wing, his voice raised above the gale.

“What we face, none have faced in a thousand years. We do battle with it so that none have to, ever again.”

“We are the greatest warriors of Bahamut. We are up to the task. But we do not fight alone. The Platinum Dragon lends us his will, sending us powerful allies.”

With that, all the wyverns started as a massive brass dragon glided out of the sickened sky to stand next to Oberlin. It threw the charred, broken body of a creature to the ground. This other beast was unlike anything Nalla had seen. Dull black, about the wreathed in shadow , it appeared more void than real. But it was clearly dead, bleeding dark ichor from deep furrows along its flanks, covered in blisters scorched by the heat of the dragon’s breath. A gloomstalker. Dead. As she watched, it dissolved into shadow, sinking into the earth like mist.

Dvo’ssa, ancient brass dragon of Ank’Harel, towered over the Wing Captain, scales gleaming even in the gloom, eyes burning with intelligence. Its voice rumbled.

“Many tasty treats up there. Hurry, lest I leave no morsels.”

The Wing let out a cheer.

Oberlin raised his glaive in both hands. He cried out, his voice echoing against the gale, “For Vasselheim! For Bahamut!”

With that, V’saat took two steps and effortlessly glided off the ground. Dvo’ssa rose 30 feet into the air on a single mighty flap of their wings.

The pregnant air groaned as one hundred silver, brass, and bronze wyvern, The Wing of Bahamut, leapt skyward. For a moment, even the necrotic storm above their heads seemed to tremble.

Nalla’s fear vanished. 

The Wing flew away from the primordial, gaining altitude before entering the battle. They shot upwards, hundreds of feet in what felt like a moment. Cheers erupted from the city as they saw their greatest warriors take to the air.

They climbed above the head of the monster. The view took Nalla’s breath away: A great, cracked tower surrounded by a ruined city. Above the tower, a gargantuan, one-eyed god, seemingly stitched together, green fire trailing from the empty eye socket. Vecna, ascended. She quailed. What could stand against that?!

  
But as Nalla watched, she saw small figures surrounding the god. Black winged, golden winged, a celestial. From child-sized to giant. Even an elf warrior on a broom. They seemed insignificant, but as she watched, they attacked. The god roared in pain. Vox Machina was in the fight.

Above it all, gloomstalkers circled the fray, waiting for a chance to strike, to tip the balance in their god’s favor. The Wing had their prey. As one, the wyverns banked and dove. One of the gloomstalkers noticed the incoming wyverns and croaked a warning. The shadowy beasts turned to meet the new threat.

As one, the Wing of Bahamut let out a war cry and crashed into the gloomstalkers. Spears and talons lanced out, stabbing and tearing at the first wave of stalkers. The mob of shadow creatures slowed and fell back, then exploded into a furious cloud of attackers. The huge battle quickly became dozens of skirmishes. 

Wyvern riders were trained to fight in pairs, overwhelming one opponent, dispatching it quickly, then moving onto the next. One wyvern would fly under the opponent while the other circled tightly, trying to get inside the opponent’s guard. The foe was left with two bad choices: They could circle more tightly, keeping the turning opponent at bay. That would expose them to tearing, stabbing attacks from below. Or, they could stoop and dive and evade the attacker below, leaving themselves vulnerable to the other circling rider.

The fight, the foe was unique. The tactics were the same: Pair up, isolate, and kill. The Wing bent to its task.

Except one. Nalla waited, circling.

Every rider/wyvern team in the Wing had unique talents. Some could fly through storms of blades, practically untouched. Others were stronger than giants. 

And a few - very few - possessed unrivaled sight, speed, maneuverability, and battle-sense. Hunters like Nalla. Where other wyvern riders wore chain, and their wyverns wore armor made of great steel plates, she and Trusk wore soft, black leather for silence and speed. She flew above the fray, looking for need and opportunity and delivering a well-timed, deadly strike. Others were warriors. She and Trusk were the hunters. 

Nalla gripped her hammer, watching the fight. 

Her wingmates gave her good-natured ribbing about the hammer. It wasn’t a normal Wing weapon. Most riders wielded glaives. Years ago, though, Nalla had lodged her spear in the side of a manticore. It nearly tore her from her saddle. Since then, she preferred crushing weapons to stabbing ones.

Her vision narrowed, zooming in to see the great brass dragon, harried by a score of the gloomstalkers. They looked like gnats next to it, but an impossibly large one - nearly as large as Dvo’ssa - clawed at the dragon’s back.

She gripped Trusk with her thighs and wrapped the flight straps in her left hand. Her command was unspoken. After years training together, Trusk knew what to do. The wyvern turned and dove downward, faster and faster until the wind shrieked in Nalla’s ears. 

While not as large as a brass dragon, wyverns are big beasts. Claws extended, Trusk slammed into the neck of the giant stalker like a storm giant’s fist. At the same time, Nalla brought down her hammer on the thing’s skull. She connected with a satisfying crunch and heard the snap of the freakish stalker’s spine as Trusk’s blow struck home. The stalker’s wings went limp.

But it wasn’t enough. The monster screamed with pain. Its head whipped around and bit down on Trusk’s tail. It grappled the wyvern, dragging them downwards. Trusk bravely struck with his stinger again and again, to no avail. They plummeted towards the tower.

Nalla was finished, and so soon. She raised her hammer, determined to break the stalker even as they fell…

And she was free, Trusk gliding, shaking his head in confusion. She looked up to see Dvo’ssa looping away with a grace that belied their bulk, the hapless gloomstalker grasped in their talons. Dvo’ssa roared as it ripped the beast in half, then incinerated four of its smaller companions with a blast of fiery breath. Then he wheeled back towards Nalla.

“I thank you, warrior…”

The great dragon jerked to a stop as if hit by a wall. A cage of force surrounded it. Dvo’ssa howled with rage and threw themselves against the glowing bars, to no avail. They were trapped. Below, Vecna sneered, hand outstretched.

Nalla could do nothing to help Dvo’ssa. She flung Trusk into a sharp left-hand turn to avoid the caged dragon, and surveyed the battlefield.

She was in the midst of the greatest aerial battle in the history of Tal’dorei. She couldn’t see the edge of it. Everywhere, wyverns twisted and turned against gloomstalkers. 

The wyverns were outnumbered, but training, armor, riders, and a flock of great northern eagles evened the odds. To her left, a rider stabbed upwards with his spear, slashing the belly of a gloomstalker while another wyvern circled nearby. Above her, B’orn, the largest of the riders, grimly drove his gigantic wyvern down on a stalker, literally crushing it in midair.

To her right, a wyvern and rider began to fall from the purple sky, as the mount, neck and wings limp, began drifting into a slow death spiral. Nalla put Trusk into another stoop, matching the stricken rider. She yelled, and the rider looked up. Nalla’s heart skipped, recognizing Mara. She’d had an ale with her the night before…

Mara was pale but calm. She unbuckled her riding harness. Trusk swooped down, extending his hind legs, showing surprising dexterity as he gently snatched Mara from her dead mount. Nalla wanted to get Mara to safety, and it wasn’t totally selfless. With the extra weight, she and Trusk were vulnerable. They began circling downward.

But two gloomstalkers sensed easy prey. With a guttural cry, they banked towards the trio.

Nalla reached down as Trusk went into a half-somersault. She grabbed Mara and swung her into the saddle behind her. 

“Buckles.” 

Mara nodded, fastening herself to the saddle.

Nalla guided Trusk into a sharp series of banks, trying to avoid the stalkers as she flew downwards. Nalla had no interest in fighting two beasts at once.

The gloomstalkers were cunning. They spread out and began to circle. Nalla banked Trusk to match. They were in trouble. If one of them could turn tighter than Trusk, they’d be able to lash out at the riders while the other one slashed at Trusk’s lightly-armored belly. 

The turn tightened. Nalla’s vision tunneled with the force of it. This wasn’t going to work. She flicked the reins. Trusk abruptly veered left and dove again. The wyvern’s great size and weight made it far faster on the descent than the frail gloomstalkers. They quickly fell behind. The ground screamed up at them. To a bystander, it looked like suicide.

It wasn’t. The Wing didn’t fly alone, and the walls of Vasselheim bristled with accurate, well-crewed ballistae. Trusk bellowed a warning at the walls as he backwinged so hard Nalla’s vision tunneled for a second time. Mara’s face smashed into Nalla’s shoulder, and Trusk’s sinews let out an audible pop. 

The smaller, lighter gloomstalkers easily matched Trusk, beginning another turn that could only end in their favor. Then four bolts the size of small oak trees impaled the stalkers. They didn’t even cry out. A gloomstalker struck by weapons of this size didn’t die. It just… vanished. The bolts continued their arc, covered with gore, leaving nothing in their wake.

Trusk landed roughly, just inside the city’s outer wall. Mara slid from his back to stand on wobbly legs. Blood streamed from her nose, lip and chin, but she was alive. 

Trusk turned to look at his rider and jerked his head skyward, snarling. He wanted back in the fight, and Nalla wasn’t going to argue. But the sudden stop had injured the wyvern. His wings barely worked. He could not fly.

A healer tried to tend to Mara, who pushed the robed man towards the great wyvern.

“Heal him, you fool. Get him back into the sky.”

The cleric ran to Trusk’s side, muttered a quick spell, and touched the beast’s side. Trusk sighed with relief as strained muscles knitted. Nalla nodded appreciation and shot Mara a quick smile.

“Take care, sister. The dead walk in Vasselheim.”

Mara nodded, then strode off, spitting blood from her ruined mouth.

“You, there! Get me a gods-damned sword!”

Trusk roared support, then flapped upwards, back into the fray. The next minute was a blur.

…Nalla’s hammer, thudding into the joint of a gloomstalker’s wing, sending it screaming towards the walls…

…Two eagles helping her quickly dispatch another stalker as it tried to snatch soldiers from the walls…

…A horde of the shadowy fliers, encircling Oberlin as he struck all around with his enchanted glaive, and V’saat roared defiance. She turned to help just as the Captain lanced his way out, then circled back for more…

…Crackling streaks of lightning flashing into the Primordial, carving great chunks of stone and earth from its sides…

Her arm was heavy with fatigue, her armor streaked with blood of foes, friends and herself. Trusk was cut in a dozen places and had a small tear in one wing. Soon, she’d have to land to heal, but that meant leaving the battle, and she refused…

Then the primordial raised one of its four arms, preparing to sunder the very city of Thar Amphala from its shoulders. Nalla blinked. A searing flash of light came from city, and a cry so loud it made her clap her hands over her ears..

“Too soon!!! Toooo sssooooonnnn…”

The very air sped inwards towards Thar Amphala, then exploded outwards. Nalla gaped as the shockwave spread as far as she could see, flattening trees and buffeting every flying creature. The primordial stopped, just outside the city walls, falling to its knees. 

And silence. The surviving gloomstalkers fell from the sky, dissipating into shreds of shadow before striking the ground. 

For a moment, nothing moved. Then cheers erupted from the city walls. Horns began to blow. 

Nalla and Trusk landed gingerly. Trusk was limping from a wound on one leg, and Nalla winced as her ribs sent pain lancing down her side. They were probably broken. She hadn’t noticed during the fight.

For the second time that day, she blinked away tears, this time from exhaustion and joy. She slumped down, leaning on Trusk’s neck and giving him an affectionate rub.

“Well done, my friend.”

Trusk turned a whirling eye towards her and gave her an appreciative nudge.

“DIdn’t shit yourself, I hope?”

Oberlin, one arm in a sling, half-walked, half-staggered towards her. He sat down hard next to her and offered her a water skin. She drank greedily.

A few other riders joined them. They sat, too tired to even speak. The circle grew until there were a few dozen of them. Slowly they realized they were the only ones left, and tears flowed. Mara sat next to Nalla, sobbing for her lost friend. It was a great day, and a costly one. The Wing had lost a great deal, and Vasselheim many of its finest.

Slowly, though — very slowly — the clouds began to blow away. The thickened air seemed to return to normal. Acolytes of the many temples spread out, bringing healing, drink, and food. Riders and mounts alike rose, reinvigorated, to help retake the city from the remaining, staggering undead.

Nalla climbed back on Trusk and gave her companion a nudge. They soared skyward once more.


End file.
